Of course we’re one day late, as usual and in what has become a tradition.
For Ludie’s birth no less.
Posted on the Beethoven site:
Happy Birthday to the Greatest Composer ever born.
Ludwig van Beethoven
Born: 16th December 1770 Died: Never
I love this portrait of him as it looks so lifelike and realistic vs those others that are so cold. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of him smiling. But then he was always in his own world was he not?
One story is told of him coming into a eatery and ordering lunch. The lunch was served and he ate a bit of it. Then he got up and left without paying. Not long after he came back in and ordered the same lunch again. People saw him as the great maestro and put up with his idiosyncrasies.
Did you know or have I said that most composers are born in the cold cold days of winter? Give us music then, and let us reap joy in the cold cold days of ice and snow.
Sometimes a struggle is captured in a single painting. Or photograph, or sketch… And this is one I’ve immediately identified with. It’s a representation of where I’ve been these past few days as I’ve struggled to stay awake, or get out of bed. Or stay focused. Or write a few words, or wonder why I can’t have a magic pill that would allow me to overcome whatever it is I need to overcome. This is what I look like today, purely as an abstraction as I’m not that thin. You can see the depth of despair that you know will always linger within even though there is a bit of hope or signs of life that have surfaced—not entirely, mind you—yet skimming the face, eyes, lips. Maybe the eyebrows perched into a worrisome frame. It’s not clear to me what the worry is contemplating or considering. Maybe nothing at present—perhaps a comment on the state of being. And then again sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between a comment and a reflection.
I looked up Roman having not heard of him before seeing this painting. That effort has rendered the painting yet more of an enigma, as Zakrzewski is a man and his primary focus was painting this singular woman. Not a “Her portrait…” as indicated on the post. Not much more information is given as entries are in Polish and one of the signatures of the particular struggle I seem closed within is laziness. Translations are often a mouse click too far. (Not a bridge at all.)
And so here we are left once again, with the waaaayyyyy things are.